


Upon His Table.

by BornToBeBeheaded



Category: The Perfect Host (2010)
Genre: Blow Job, Cunnilingus, Dating, Disscussion Of Art, Edging, F/M, Fingering, General Pretenious Crap, Implied Age Difference, Light Choking, Making Out, Manhandling, Mocking, Orgasm Denial, Rough Sex, Teasing, Tension., Threat of Punishment, Vaginal Sex, sharing dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BornToBeBeheaded/pseuds/BornToBeBeheaded
Summary: You met him unexpectedly at an art gallery when your friend was late. You were never more thankful for a chance meeting. Dating him is fantastic, tensions build and come to ahead at a shared dinner.
Relationships: Warwick Wilson & Reader, Warwick Wilson & You, Warwick Wilson/Reader, Warwick Wilson/You
Kudos: 3





	Upon His Table.

**Author's Note:**

> AYYYYYYYY!
> 
> I fucking adore The Perfect Host, a fantastic fucking movie, I love Warwick, he is a delight and so wild and fun to write for. I feel like I nailed his character and had so much fun writing this. Hope you all like it too! No one asked for it, I just wanted to do it! So as per usual, feedback, ideas, suggestions, requests are encouraged, leave a comment here or shoot an ask to my tumblr, bisexual-horror-fan, I would love to hear from you! Thank you so much for reading and enjoy!

You had an affinity for art. 

Always had.

You hadn’t planned on going but a friend of yours insisted on it, they didn’t want to go alone and even though you were a bit tired from work you decided it would be fun, it was Friday and you could sleep in tomorrow. You had all weekend to yourself and why not kick off your Friday with this? 

You had been meaning to stop by this gallery, the main exhibits seemed terribly interesting to you. So you finished work and went home to get ready. A quick shower and re-dressing, light make and quick re-arranging of your hair and you were out the door.

The excitement as you headed up the steps of the museum was present as always when you made the time to attend such a place, hungry to satisfy your craving for the arts, it had been too long. 

Your friend was late. 

Not the first time and you were certain it wouldn’t be the last either. 

They texted encouraging you to start looking without them and so with a casual shrug you pocketed your phone and did just that. 

He was drawn to you right away. Your overall look, very his type, and you were all alone, odd, someone of your age, looking like you? By yourself? Very unusual. He was curious. He observed you for a moment, simply taking in the view. You were looking so closely at one of his favorite pieces, it wasn’t one that was heavily advertised, not by some big name artist, a much smaller and underappreciated one, local to the area, a relative unknown in their time that only received recognition only in their untimely death. It meant something important, that you weren’t the casual gawker, only here because this exhibit was talked about in the paper, that you actually knew true art, had a genuine interest in art, not some passing fancy or fad like some of the people he saw out and about tonight. 

He could tell there was just something about you. He was curious and wanted to know more, and so he decided why not? 

He approached you casually. Sauntering up until he was beside you in that unmistakably Warwick way of his. Your gaze was still focused on the painting in front of you, he spoke up and that is what made you aware of his presence. His question was a good one, no preamble, he trusted that you could handle it-

“What is your opinion on this piece in relation to his other work?”

You spoke without thinking, typical of you in relation to art, when you were in this setting your opinions flowed freely and easily, eyes still on the picture you shared your thoughts,

“Personally I believe his change in technique, while brief, was necessary to facilitate his later work. His second to last phase when he was in the hospital was truly breathtaking but there is no way he could have achieved it without the vital experimentation in this stage. While it isn’t my favorite piece I feel it is his most important one.”

He was stunned. Such insight, he had never heard something so true and profound said about this relative unknown artist he had such a strong affinity for. And then you spoke again, asking him a question of your own,

“What are your thoughts?”

Finally glancing to look at him and you paused, eyes sweeping over him, well dressed, older, very much seeming to be YOUR type. You always had a thing for older men, you appreciated he approached you to ask your opinion on the art as opposed to simply your looks but how he responded to your question would tell you of his true nature, was he into the art? You? Or maybe, hopefully, both? 

He caught you looking, glancing back to you, small smile playing on his face as he replied, and with so much sincerity it was a little shocking for your first encounter with him, but maybe he was just that kind of man, as he spoke, 

“How could I possibly expound further when you have already summed it up perfectly?”

Oh he was good. 

“Well surely you have something more to say, a man such as yourself must have more on his mind.”

A smile of your own as you asked him, your tone a bit playful and he was all too happy to oblige. A spirited discussion started, about light and use of color and more, simply fraught with flirtation and opinions, it was lively and mentally stimulating, so refreshing and so fucking needed. 

“So you are here by yourself?”

A shake of your head as you responded to him,

“Waiting on a friend. They have a terrible habit of being chronically late.”

A laugh from him as he said,

“Now who would ever dream of making you wait?”

You two had started walking, talking continued, discussion of other paintings as you went, of other artists and mediums and you were both having a lovely time both caught up in conversation. Or you were until a chiming cut through the excited talking, a look from him and his hand flying to his hip, jacket pushed out of the way and he looked down, you did too, a pager? Eyes flicked up when you heard him suck his teeth, his looked displeased, only for a moment did the shift in emotion flicker across his face and then he looked to you, jacket back in place with a flourish and you spoke first,

“Something the matter?”

A heavy sigh, a hand ran over his face before he said in a rather exasperated tone,

“Yes, unfortunately it’s work. I was under the impression I was done for the weekend and I thought they could handle it on their own but apparently I was wrong.”

His frustration was clear and obviously not directed at you, he spoke again before you could,

“I was having a great time, so sorry we have to cut this so short-”

A pause, and you both realized you hadn’t introduced yourselves properly, a shake of his head and an offer of his hand as he said,

“I cannot believe I have forgotten my manners so, what is your name?”

Your smile was back, too cute, too polite, you’d better be careful around him or you might just end up in danger of falling for him. You took his hand and shook it as you told him your name, he repeated it softly, in a way that you could tell meant he was sincerely trying to commit it to memory, it was very endearing. You asked him next-

“And you are?”

He released your hand as he said, 

“Warwick. Warwick Wilson.”

An interesting name for an interesting man. Before you could respond again your phone went off, you quickly retrieved it out of your coat pocket to see your friend had finally texted you back, letting you know they had just arrived and asking where you were. You slipped your phone away as you said,

“Well Warwick Wilson seems like my aforementioned friend has finally arrived.”

“Seems like we must part then. Unfortunately.”

A hum from you as you rocked on your heels as you agreed softly,

“Very unfortunate.”

He couldn’t let this go, certainly couldn’t let you pass by, he hadn’t had quite a lively conversation, or one as mentally engaging, and certainly not one with someone as attractive as you, in some time.

“Pardon me if this is too forward but I would love to see you again. Whether here or somewhere else-”

You would love that. Truly. But your friend was texting again and you knew that you needed to meet them or they wouldn’t stop spam texting you. An idea, you spoke up, a wild one but fuck it,

“Warwick, what do you think of the idea of serendipity?”

Something he never expected to hear you say but he took it in stride,

“I think it is an interesting concept but I do not know how much weight it holds.”

You took a step to be closer to him, hand on his forearm as you said,

“How about an exercise in faith then?”

He liked that look in your eyes and couldn’t stop his smile widening as he asked,

“What do you suggest?”

“You are from around here, yes? A local man? I live around here too, how about if we stumble into each other again then we hold on tight. But for now, you have work, I have my friend waiting-”

You let go and stepped back, he wished you wouldn’t, he was captivated by you and you kept talking,

“-let’s have faith and hope we run into each other again.”

What else could he do?

Say no to you? 

Impossible. 

He agreed far too easily,

“Sounds like an exercise I could use.”

A lingering look before you turned on your heel, a casual wave over your shoulder as you called out,

“Until then Warwick Wilson.”

You needed to stop saying his full name like that, it sounded far too good rolling off of your tongue and sliding out between painted lips.

“Hopefully the wait isn’t too long.”

He called after you as he watched you walk away, that emphasis on ‘too’ making you laugh, and when you caught up with your friend the smile plastered on your face refused to leave.

The night was great, you had never been more thankful that your friend was so fucking flaky because if they weren’t you never would have gotten the chance to meet him. The moment was wonderful, amazing, and you thought about him the next day but it wasn’t until a few days after that you regretted not getting his phone number. 

That regret was quickly squashed on one sun drenched afternoon. You were out at a favorite coffee shop of yours. Reading a book, a favored drink and snack on your table and then when someone sat down across from you, it caused you to look up to be greeted with that same smiling face you saw at the gallery, 

“Found you.”

A smile of your own breaking out. 

“You certainly did.”

You closed your book and leaned forward on your forearms as you asked,

“So tell me Warwick, was the wait too long?”

Pulling out the ‘too’ just like he had on that night and with a hum he said

“No, I think it was just long enough. Don’t want you getting sick of me. Yet anyway.”

And that is how it truly started.

The two of you dating. 

Number’s were exchanged that afternoon and you two did so much, more museums and sightseeing, so much talking and it was all great. Time spent in libraries and you two had gotten in the habit of sharing book recommendations back and forth, meeting up for lunches mid-day when you could, carving out small moments for each other in your busy days. Earlier that week the two of you met on a bench for lunch and exchanged books again and he suggested a date you hadn’t done yet. 

He invited you back to his place for the first time with the promise of cooking you dinner. Something you had no idea that you wanted so badly until he suggested it. Now it had come up a few times how much he enjoyed cooking in his spare time, trying new recipes, pushing what he could do, he had mentioned it being one of his favorite hobbies and how he had dinner parties for his friends at least once a month. This wasn’t going to be that though, this was going to be just the two of you tonight. 

The implication was obvious.

It had been weeks upon weeks of seeing each other. He hadn’t seen your place nor you his, all of your meetings decidedly public, there had been more than enough time. Seems neither of you were the type to rush into this kind of thing, and that was fine with you, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it, wanted it. Both of you were getting perhaps a bit too bold in your good-bye’s to each other. You had kissed, obviously, of course, and when they happened it had gotten significantly more hungry as of late. Hands in danger of roaming too far and to places too scandalous for a public venue. The looks you two shared were also laden with want. 

Tonight promised to be great. The fact it was Friday again, both of you off the next day made this even better. 

You took your time getting ready. You definitely took pride in your appearance and loved looking good whenever you were going to be meeting up with him, seemed like he almost lived in suits and you felt the want, no, the need to try and match him. He cared about how he looked and why shouldn’t you try to put in a similar amount of effort. 

He had given you his address and allowed you to make your own way over. 

His place was so nice, he was dressed so well as always and he was gentlemanly as always too. He heavily complimented your choice in outfit, the heels, the way your dress flowed and clung to you, his gaze was one of genuine admiration and he even mentioned how well the color suited you. 

You joked asking if he planned on abandoning early, a cute call back to your first meeting, many Friday nights ago now. In response he told you not to worry about his work bothering you two tonight, that is when he reminded you that you didn’t know what he did but before you could ask he had distracted you. Your coat was taken and he was leading you to the kitchen asking what kind of wine you liked and soon a glass was in your hand and you were laughing over some joke he told and you completely forgot about asking what his job entailed. He timed it beautifully, all he had to do was plate up and once you had your drink he led you to the dining room table and pulled your chair out, inviting you to sit and then it was dinner time. 

The conversation was wonderful, dinner was fucking amazing. He did not oversell his abilities at all. The wine pairing he chose was perfect, and the evening felt light and easy and fun, easily one of your best dates so far.

And yet. 

There was this lingering tension. Quiet and simmering under the surface. It would be light but then a look or a comment with some particular heat behind it, and it would remind you of the fact that now you were away from the prying eyes of the public meant there was nothing holding the two of you back. 

But for now you took it easy. 

You had all night after all. 

“Thank you so much for cooking. It was lovely.”

“It was my pleasure.”

He said it so genuinely once again, he was clearing the table and you made a move to get up and assist him while saying-

“Oh here let me help-”

“Nonsense, please! You are my guest. Relax.”

You conceded with a smile, sitting back down proper and watched as he cleared the dishes. Conversation continued, he started in on dishes, you wanted more wine, had ended up in the kitchen with him, leaning against the island, he poured you another glass before taking off his jacket, it was placed over the back of a chair and he was still talking about the latest book he’d been reading as he rolled his sleeves up. You normally hung off his every word but right now you were distracted by the skin that was slowly being revealed to you, glass of wine to your lips, fingers gripping the stem of your glass a tad too tight as you watched. He looked like he had surprising strength as you eyed his forearms. It took him saying your name pulled you out of your thoughts, you looked up to see him looking at you, that damn smile getting to you as you asked, startled,

“Wha-what?”

“I asked about your opinion on chapter twelve and you didn’t respond.” 

Hands dried and dish towel thrown over his shoulder, taking the few small steps to close the gap between the two of you. And you wanted him closer still. 

“Obviously your mind was elsewhere.”

My God was he right about that. 

He was tempting you. 

Why shouldn’t you tempt him right back. 

You reached out and grabbed him by the tie, wrapping it around your hand once and pulled him closer to you, 

“Can’t the dishes wait?”

His hands on either side of the island countertop you were leaning against, he was so close to you, looking down at you as he played along,

“Oh I don’t know, if I don’t do them now I will have to really scrub them later-”

You tugged him again, inching him ever closer, you leaning up, mouth nearly on his as you asked so softly,

“C’mon Warwick. Please?”

You bit your bottom lip and looked up to him through your lashes,

“I’m your guest, remember?”

“I suppose I’m obligated to show my guest a good time, aren’t I?”

And finally he closed the distance and his mouth was on yours and you nearly moaned into his mouth, somehow he tasted better than the dinner he cooked personally for you. Something delicious lingering there that you weren’t sure of, something maybe, fruity? You weren’t sure, it didn’t really matter, you still had one hand on your glass and the other on his tie as you kissed him back, there was something more uninhibited about it, no need to hold back or stop. So you didn’t. Greedily taking your fill as you deepened the kiss, your tongue ran over his bottom lip, you had just had dinner and yet you were so fucking hungry again. 

He broke the kiss suddenly, you wanted to whine but didn’t, and when you opened your eyes he was looking at you, you were swallowing hard, your breathing had already quickened from barely two minutes of making out with him. One of his hands roamed, sliding up your arm and your shoulder and now up to your face, cupping your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin, eyes looking into yours as he said,

“Why don’t you go back to the table. I think it is time for dessert.”

You wanted to protest but that look, something more serious, that you hadn’t seen from him previously, it told you that you should listen. And so you obliged as he stepped back, you released his tie and you couldn’t help your eyes raking up and down him as you snaked around the island to go back to the dining room table. 

You went back to where you had been sitting previously and you made a move to sit down until you heard him speak up clearly,

“Not there.”

You stopped and looked over to him and he was already looking at you as he said,

“On the table.”

What? You were a bit shocked as you asked,

“On?-”

He cut you off-

“On the table. In front of my seat please.”

You swallowed hard and that tone, he hadn’t spoken like that to you previously, and you fucking liked it. 

So you listened again. 

You stepped to his seat and did as you were told, sitting down on the edge of the table right in front of his chair and he made his way back over, dessert on a platter in one hand, small plates and forks in the other. He set them down carefully behind you, on the opposite end of the table. 

You were curious as to what he had planned. You wanted to ask but had a sneaking suspicion that you shouldn’t try it. He was standing right in front of you and you looked up to him and he took a moment. Simply looking you over. It was shockingly intense, you were fully dressed but how he was looking at you and having you on his table made you feel exposed. 

He reached out and his hand met your neck and he leaned down enough to meet you again, a kiss, hard and possessive. A new feeling he had foisted upon you that you had no idea you would enjoy as much as you were, you returned his affection, frantic and craving more. Wine glass still in one hand, your other coming to his shoulder, fingers gripped the fabric of his dress shirt, the material felt so fucking nice. Your hand dragged to his shirt collar, a gentle tug as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding down, over your shoulders and arms and sides and coming to rest on your hips, squeezing with even pressure and then he pulled back. You were sure your lipstick was smudged, you didn’t fucking care, his mouth over your jaw and neck, a hum leaving you as your eyes fell closed, he nipped the side of your throat and it drew a soft gasp of his name. He let out a chuckle against your collarbone before saying,

“I love how you say my name.”

Of course he did. He was used to people mis-prouncing it constantly but you never did, if he wasn’t so preoccupied with working his way down your body, mouth making heat flare between your legs, you were sure he would compliment your impeccable diction. He was now seated in his chair, hands sliding up your calves slowly, quickly working up to your thighs, you parted your legs wider for him, your hand was still on his shirt collar, you wanted to use it as if it were a collar of a different nature to pull him closer to your body. You resisted the urge, mostly because his hands had reached your outer thighs under your dress and he looked up to you as he spoke. And in a surprisingly light tone despite the heavy tension you, and he certainly, must have been feeling in this moment he said,

“On your back please.”

You wanted to listen right away but you realized you were still holding your wine glass, you glanced for a place to put it and with a shake of his head he said,

“Hold onto it.”

Easier said than done. You slowly lowered until your back met the table, the table cloth felt nice on the parts of your back and shoulders that were exposed. You had adjusted the glass in your hand, cupping the bottom of it, the stem between your middle and index finger for balance, you felt confident until his hands were on your inner thighs spreading you open wider, his thumbs brushing the edge of your panties. Your breath caught in your throat, you knew that you were wet already, could he tell just how much though? He ran his thumb up and down your still clothed slit, you felt the damp fabric slide over your soaked flesh. It felt good, you didn’t have long to focus, he spoke to you again,

“Arch your hips darling.”

Your legs were dangling off the edge of the table, hard to make that happen, an idea struck you quickly, heels meeting his knees, using them as leverage, bending to his will and you were rewarded. Dress pushed up and his fingers hooked in your panties and he slid them down your thighs, you came to rest back down, heels leaving him and your panties came down past your knees and were pulled off, tossed over his shoulder. Speaking of his shoulders your legs were thrown over them, his hands on the tops of your thighs and you felt his lips brush over your inner thigh and you knew at that moment you were in trouble. How would you ever keep your composure? Then again he probably didn’t want you to. 

You realized now that this was an odd place to be doing this for the first time. You weren’t about to complain but you still decided to say something anyway.

“What happened to dessert, Warwick?”

A light laugh, you felt his hot breath fan over your aching core before he said, 

“We are still going to have dessert my dear. This is a palate cleanser.”

You laughed and began to say ‘of course’ but his mouth touched down and instead that broke off into a moan, eyes falling shut again. So the thing about Warwick Wilson is that he didn’t just know how to cook he knew how to eat too. You had gotten so worked up just from the implication of tonight, from the talking and the flirting, the sheer tension of it and then of course the making out and lead up to this, it felt amazing. 

He took his time, clearly in no rush as his tongue ran up through your folds and back down, he left no inch untouched. Licking, sucking, open mouthed kisses, nips on your thighs and hips, tongue running flat over your whole slit before circling around your clit with careful precision that had you nearly panting. 

“War-Warwick, yes!”

A hum from him and the vibration made your legs shake in his grip, which was much harder on your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin as he consumed you whole. Your back arched, a strained moan, you were gripping the wine glass so tightly you feared that you might shatter it. He licked up you again, tongue over your clit, a slow circle and then sucking it into his mouth and your thighs tensed, opposite hand fisted in the pure white table cloth and you cried out-

“Fuck!”

And suddenly contact was broken and you whimpered, letting go of the table cloth you propped up on your elbows and you looked down to see him staring up at you, his mouth was wet, slick with you and you were breathing hard,

“Wh-why’d you stop?”

One of his hands slid off your thigh and came to rest between your legs as he began to speak,

“To remind you of where you are-”

Two of his fingers slowly pushing inside of you and you tensed, sucking in a hard breath, brows furrowed as you watched him, trying to focus on what he was saying. 

“-we are at the table. Still sharing a meal, such language at the dinner table is considered rude. Where are your manners?”

Those same two fingers curled inside of you and you gasped his name, fist that wasn’t holding your glass clenching, a quiet moan leaving you. A hard thrust of his fingers as he spoke, harsher,

“Well? Aren’t you going to at least apologize?”

A louder moan before you spat out what he wanted-

“I-I’m sorry! I forgot myself, please Warwick, forgive me?” 

A smile, mirth clear in his eyes, his fingers fucking in and out of you at a steady pace as he said, 

“I suppose I can. But only because you are so delicious.”

His mouth lowered again, tongue on your clit and you sighed, head tipping back, a moan of his name again before uttering,

“Tha-thank you.”

He built you up. Quickly. Fingers have found that sweet spot inside of you, working you from the inside out, trembling, feeling the pleasure build, taut like a string, ready to snap, rocking against his tongue and fingers, nearly there. He could surely feel it, he had to know, and yet- 

He pulled away. 

His mouth lifted and his fingers slipped out and you wanted to protest, cuss him out, stopping with you so close to the edge. You nearly smacked your fist on the table, instead you had your first pressed to your mouth, still trembling, breathing hard through your nose. Then he spoke,

“I think it’s time for dessert now.”

Was he fucking kidding?

Now?

You looked to him, he was looking up at you, a look in his eyes, challenging you, daring you to do something about it as he pulled those two fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean, not daring to blink or break away from the eye contact. 

“Is your palate adequately cleansed?”

Pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a smile, he said,

“Thoroughly.”

You didn’t want dessert yet.

What you really wanted was to make HIM break composure. He did it to you far too easily. You wanted to make him just as excited you wanted him to fuck you already.

Another idea.

“Warwick dear?”

He had gotten up with the intention of helping you off of the table but you addressing him like that made him pause, you were looking up to him as he asked,

“Yes?”

“What if I wanted to cleanse MY palate before dessert?”

A soft smile crossing your lips and while you didn’t think this was a test you certainly seemed to impress him all the same. 

“What kind of host would I be unless I offered that?” 

He offered out his hand and you took it as you said in as flirtatious and teasing a manner you could manage, 

“A truly terrible one.”

Helped to you feet, he took the glass from you finally and looked it over, before setting it down on the table as he said,

“Didn’t spill a drop, I am impressed.” 

“Why thank you.” 

And you reached out, one hand on his shoulder, the other hand cupping him through his dress slacks and he was very hard, you felt him tense upon you touching him so suddenly. This might be easier than anticipated. You felt him up for a moment, you were impressed yourself and you hadn’t even gotten him out of the confines of his clothes yet. You glanced up and now his eyes were closed, perfect timing. You dropped down to your knees, and started making quick work of his belt, pushing him against the edge of the table, him now in the position you were before, in front of his seat at the end of the table, leaning against it, hands flat on the table top. You opened his pants and leaned in, mouthing his cock through the underwear he still had on, you heard his breath catch for once and you smiled against him. You fished him out, hand closed around him at the base and now you took a moment to admire him, flushed and feeling hot in your palm. 

You stroked experimentally and loved what you heard next, him breathing your name, you felt emboldened and leaned in, tongue running over the underside of his head. It was your turn to lose yourself in pleasing him, enjoying consumption of your own. Sucking the head of his cock into your mouth, hand stroking your shaft, wrist twisting as your tongue swirled around him in your mouth before sucking hard, hand around the base of his shaft as you pushed down, taking him halfway into your mouth. You pulled back before sinking down again, taking him deeper still, a moan around him, tucking some loose hair behind your ear, looking up and seeing a decidedly flustered Warwick, much more so than you had ever seen him. 

It felt fucking good.

He was normally taking the lead so it was fantastic that you were doing so now and seeing the effect it had on him. He obviously wasn’t used to someone else taking charge like this. 

You removed your hand from him, both hands on his hips, now for the real fun. A quick rhythm set, bobbing up and down, taking him hard and quick and deep, hallowing your cheeks, sucking on the upstroke and you heard him, he cursed, low and under his breath but unmistakable. 

“Shit-”

Now it was your turn.

You pulled back and he popped out of your mouth, looking up to him as you said, mocking and teasing,

“Warwick! I’m surprised at you! Didn’t you just chastise me for foul language at the dinner tab-”

And before you could finish the thought he was hauling you up, hands on your biceps he dragged you up onto your heels, pushing his chair over and out of the way, and then you were pushed forward. Slammed down onto the table, bent over, his hands already working on hauling your dress up over your thighs and ass. 

“Warwick what are yo-”

He was practically on top of you, hands on either side of you, leaning down, you could feel his tie on your back, he spoke low and harsh into your ear,

“You pulled that out of me on purpose, acting like that, you little harlot.”

He felt hard against your ass and you wanted to push back onto him, him throwing you around, speaking to you like that, it was making you drip even more. You were aching for him. He kept speaking just to you,

“You might be my guest but I will not tolerate you speaking to me like that.”

He dragged himself over your slick folds and prodded at your entrance and you held your breath in anticipation, desperate, on the precipice of begging for it. There was no need-

“This is my god-damn house and I will do and say what I please. Understood?”

And he pushed forward, making you take him all at once and you gasped, hands scrambling for purchase on the table’s surface, a long low moan leaving you and his hips came to rest against your ass. And you soaked in the feeling for a moment as did he. He was enjoying your tight, wet, heat and you, enjoying the stretch of him inside of you for the first time. You let out a sigh as your response,

“Yes Warwick. I understand.”

“Good answer. The right answer”

He breathed it in your ear and then he pulled out halfway before slamming back into you, you moaned his name again. And the pace was set, not quick, but steady, hard, making you moan, and cry out, as you panted and writhed under him, balanced precariously on your heels as he fucked you. Fingers gripping the table cloth, bunching and wrinkling it, moaning and bucking back, meeting him in the middle. It felt fucking amazing, better than your day dreams, better than the fantasties you indulge in thinking about this with only your fingers for a weak replacement. Now that you had the real thing the fantasy and your hands pale in comparison. 

Then.

You made a terrible mistake. 

Bottom lip tugged in your teeth, whimpering, approaching your end again, barely staying upright on your legs, thank God so much of your weight was on the table, then this combination happened; a hard thrust from him that made you cry out and pull on the table cloth a bit too hard and you saw it happen. Your wine glass from before, tipped over and spilled, the glass didn’t break, but you watched as the rose’ spread over that pure white table cloth.

His hips stopped.

You were on the edge. 

His hips resting on your ass, buried fully inside of you. One of his hands came up and threaded in you hair, he pulled hard, his other hand coming around to your throat, he whispered in your ear, 

“Oh no. Look at what you did.”

A hard grind, he was pressed just right on that perfect spot inside of you and you wiggled your hips back against him, a whine leaving your throat, he continued, 

“What a mess.”

Was he talking about the table cloth or you?

You weren’t sure. 

You didn’t care. 

“Now what am I gonna do with you?”

You simply couldn’t wait to find out. Whatever he decided you were sure you were safe in his hands. 

He was such a good host afterall.


End file.
